Trilogy: Childhood as a Cinematic Language

Lecturer – Ksenia Golubovich, writer and culturologist

Part 1. Mirror by Andrei Tarkovsky, 1975

Tarkovsky’s Mirror is an essay film — a hybrid of fiction and documentary. It has no plot as such; instead it immerses us in the director’s own consciousness: a stream of memories, thoughts, dreams, and associations. Personal biography becomes intertwined with the history of the country — childhood, a father’s departure, war, repression.

The mirror here is a metaphor for consciousness: we never see the narrator, only hear his voice, as if he were gazing at himself and reliving his life from the beginning. The documentary quality is created through archival footage, the poetry of Arseny Tarkovsky, the doubling of actors (mother and wife played by the same actress), and the authentic details of everyday life.

We arrive at the root of the problem — the fracture of the family: the parents’ divorce as a trauma that robs the child of wholeness. The phrase “I just wanted to be happy” becomes a central metaphor for life’s difficulties. To mend this rupture, one must travel back — to the beginning, to an earthly paradise, to the time when the parents were still together.

For Tarkovsky, the film becomes an act of return to the self — an attempt to unite past and present, and to recover a lost sense of happiness. 

Water: A constant element in Tarkovsky’s work, symbolising “living matter” — connecting the film’s episodes, dreams, and memories. It functions as a mirror, reflecting the inner states of the characters, their past, and their hidden feelings.

Earth (Home): In Mirror, earth is closely bound to the image of home — the centre of the hero’s universe, a place where time stands still. Images of earth (a field, a garden, rain) frequently merge with water motifs.

Fire: Symbolises purification, transformation, and often danger or spiritual trial. In Tarkovsky’s work, fire operates in tandem with ash.

The Mirror: In the film’s title, the mirror symbolises self-examination — the capacity of the self for change and reflection on one’s own fate.

In Tarkovsky, the elements rarely appear in isolation: rain (water) falls inside the house (earth), fire burns against a backdrop of water, creating an atmosphere of dream and deep memory.

Part 2. Fanny and Alexander by Ingmar Bergman

This is Ingmar Bergman’s last major film and, in essence, his artistic testament. The story appears to be about childhood — but is really about the birth of an artist and about inner healing. In the film we spoke of three spaces created by Bergman:

  1. The Ekdahl family world — warm, theatrical, full of red curtains, celebrations, and illusions.
  2. The bishop’s world — cold, ascetic. A space of discipline, fear, and repression.
  3. Isak Jacobi’s world — a strange in-between space of magic and theatre. It is through this world that the children are saved, and here Alexander comes into contact with mystery and his own dark power.

Fanny returns to the safe world of the family. Alexander does not. He remains with the evil he has witnessed, with the mystery, and with the ghosts. He is like Hamlet: after an encounter with the shadow, it is impossible to be the same person again. And so the artist is born — Bergman himself.

Why do we watch and speak about this film today? Bergman himself grew up in the strict and harsh household of a pastor. By creating in cinema a warm world of home-as-theatre and the image of a kind, loving father he never had, Bergman effectively rewrites his own history. He transforms childhood dreams into reality on screen — and through this, heals himself. The film invites reflection: what are my own fears (if any), and what can I do with them? And here one wants to say — following Bergman — find your own colourful theatre.

Part 3. Amarcord by Federico Fellini

Unlike Bergman and Tarkovsky, Fellini is not an intellectual engaged in reinterpreting life — he is a visual artist.

  • Childhood for Fellini is not events (good or bad) but sensations.
  • Memory = feeling = desire.

We do not “remember the past” — we experience it now. His cinema is not about “what” but about “how it feels”.

  • Amarcord is not nostalgia in the usual sense. It is not “I want to return to the past” but “it is always with me”.
  • There is no analysis, no trauma, no deep reflection — only collective experience.
  • The film is built as a stream of episodes with no logic, only associations and impulses of desire.
  • The central force is libido (Eros): desire that does not age and does not disappear.
  • But there is a boundary — death (where Eros yields to Thanatos): it appears in the image of the mother. Unlike Bergman and Tarkovsky, this image is asexual — she is Madonna and Angel. This image is also connected to the roles of Fellini’s wife and muse, Giulietta Masina (“Chaplin in a skirt”), in his more contemplative films.
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